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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947957">Why can't I have you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolent_bear/pseuds/benevolent_bear'>benevolent_bear</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining, Sad GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:53:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolent_bear/pseuds/benevolent_bear</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George and Dream go drinking in a park in the winter. George pines. He loves Dream, with everything that he is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Why can't I have you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm projecting. This is my life. I ache with the shadows of memories that linger at every turn. It's 2 AM so short and not proof read :) </p><p>comments always welcome xoxo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George couldn’t help staring at him, dear </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was so beautiful. At aged 19 George had expected to be drinking in pubs and clubs but instead he found himself in a local park with his best friend, a bottle of wine clutched between his fingertips. He was cold, the winter winds blistering him through the thick material of his coat. His fingers felt numb around the neck of the wine bottle, red and raw from the biting chill. George sat on a bench, his bag from college tossed thoughtlessly next to him along with Clay’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay stood on the pathway in front of George, dancing confidently along to the beat of a song George had blasting out of his phone. The half bottle of wine had definitely taken the edge off, Clay was already a confident person but he never had the gall to dance in public. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay was silhouetted by the darkness of the evening, the sun having already said goodbye hours before. The only light around was the bright, intoxicating smile that Clay wore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was entranced, he couldn’t take his eyes off of Clay as he danced without any real rhythm. He pulled the bottle of wine to his lips, taking a large swig and cringing at the taste. Cheap wine wasn’t the best but it had only been £4.50 and wine had always gotten him more drunk than any other drink he had tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something George was quickly learning was that Clay was a lightweight, the alcohol already having clouded his thoughts and inhibitions whilst George sat reserved. It was times like this he cursed his ability to keep a hold of his sensibilities when drunk, he wanted to lose all logic and fear of consequence and join Clay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the song faded out into another Clay fell back onto the bench with George, giggles escaping him as he practically pressed himself to George’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is good wine.” Clay beams, pulling the bottle to his lips. George was enraptured by the way Clay’s mouth curled around the lip of the wine bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know all the good cheap wine, Gallo family tastes best.” George complimented himself with a hum. Clay’s response was a soft giggle and another sip of wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My hands are cold.” George whines, rubbing his hands together in hopes to create some semblance of warmth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should have brought gloves.” Clay chuckles, his eyes are trained on the light of an LED dog collar off in the distance, probably contemplating crossing the field just to go and pet it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should know by now I don’t own any.” George frowned and resolved to drinking more wine, knowing he wasn’t going to get any warmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buy some.” Is all Clay offers, his smug smile making George roll his eyes in dissatisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George felt his skin itch with the need to smoke, a habit he had tried to break repeatedly over the past two years but had never successfully done. He pulls his half empty packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket and places one between his lips, bringing a lighter to the end of it. George had always loved when the lighter was lit, the tiny flame set a wave of peace flowing through him before he could even take a drag from the cigarette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay looked at him with quiet disapproval as he began to take drags from the cigarette between his lips. Every time that George quit he would be successful for two weeks at a time, maybe even longer before he had another dream. Those dreams that are so delightful that they begin to ache like a nightmare. They present him with everything he has ever wanted, painting them to be so real before stripping it all away from him with dawn seeping in through his curtains. The dreams bring along with them this thick cloud of gloom that hangs over his head and with the cloud comes the craving. He always finds himself being £10 shorter and a pang of guilt weighing heavy on his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As George throws the butt to the ground, stomping the embers out with his foot, Clay extends his hand out with a pair of gloves drooping from between his fingertips. George eyes them quizzically but takes them nonetheless. He can’t help but feel fond at the thought that Clay had sacrificed the gloves for him, hoping his flush could be passed off as the harsh winter air's bite. George pulls on the gloves and wiggles his fingers as the stiffness immediately begins to fade from his bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes himself to stand, stretching out his muscles and eager to pull away from Clay in fear he might do something he might regret, like cuddling into his side. Clay follows him up but it only seems to be to get George to chug wine as he forces the bottle to the elders lips. With a roll of his eyes George complies to Clay’s wishes, letting the boy pour wine down his throat, not stopping until George hits Clay’s shoulder in desperation for breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I literally couldn’t breath you asshole!” George yells but his words have no bite as he grins at Clay who’s giving him the same charming smile always does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have stopped if you wanted to.” Clay shrugs, going to drink more wine. George is captivated once more by the way Clay’s hands held onto the bottle now there were no gloves in the way. George had always had a thing for Clay’s hands but it wasn’t his fault. The man had hands that dwarfed his own, veins pushed to the surface hugging each outlined bone. It’s hard for him to pull his attention away, especially now the wine is beginning to cloud his judgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and checks the time, half 7. His bus was in 20 minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably leave.” George recommends, already moving to pick up his discarded backpack. Clay whines but agrees, picking up his own bag and trudging alongside George as they exited the park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George had clearly underestimated how much of an effect the wine had had on Clay as he found himself supporting the much taller man all the way on the walk to the station. Clay seems giddy and continues talking loudly as George tries desperately not to fixate on the warmth of Clay’s hips under his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they arrive at the station Clay wraps George up in a hug, his arms coming round to hold onto his waist over his shoulders. George tries to resist the urge to cuddle his face into Clay’s chest and resorts to folding his arms around Clay’s middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me when it gets weird.” Clay mumbles in a honeyed tone that George really should be used to by now but isn’t at all. Clay’s request to stop their hug when it got weird ached George’s heart a little for it could never be weird to him. Wrapped up in Clay’s arms George had never felt any safer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George pulled away with reluctance, bidding Clay goodnight and watching him disappear into the station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His entire bus journey home George couldn’t help but wish he could have tasted wine flavoured kisses, or just feel what it would be like to have Clay’s hands pressed around him again. He knew he’d be resigned to another night of dreaming this same day with the outcome he so desperately craved. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>George gets no resolution as I don't have one either.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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